“Ruin me? For what? Posterity? How could you ruin me, Lucy? What on earth are you talking about?” He got up and began to pace the room. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. It was nearly one o’clock; but there were lights still in all her windows. Grace à Leonardo, she could defend herself now! Gosse was still attempting to manhandle the door, when she turned the key and wrenched it open. Blank it was, except for a gate near the bridgehead. Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. He could not tell whether she was English or American. .
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